


I'll Follow You

by LeastExpected_Archivist



Series: Remembrance [2]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-02-04
Updated: 2002-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:20:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26442586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeastExpected_Archivist/pseuds/LeastExpected_Archivist
Summary: by UluithielThe relief of unburdening himself has put Frodo in a playful mood
Relationships: Frodo Baggins/Sam Gamgee
Series: Remembrance [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922128
Kudos: 3
Collections: Least Expected





	I'll Follow You

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Amy Fortuna, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Least Expected](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Least_Expected), which has been offline since 2002. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Least Expected collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/leastexpected/profile).
> 
> Disclaimer: No, no, they belong to JRRT and PJ. I just write about them. In fact, I'm not sure I "wrote" this one -- I just sat and the keyboard and the guys showed me how it's done.
> 
> Story Notes: I intended to write a soft little hobbit cuddle but Frodo and Sam had other plans.

> 'The hands of the King are the hands of healing. . . but you went to the very brink of death ere he recalled you. . . and though you have indeed slept long and blessedly, still it is now time to sleep again.' _The Return of the King_ p 234

April 16, 1419 (in the Shire reckoning) Ithilien

Gandalf's pipe crackled cozily, and the smoke rings he blew reminded Frodo dreamily of happy days in the Shire. His mind took that thread and began to travel down the familiar path of memory to the inevitable darkness. The Ring, the Council, the Fellowship. Parth Galen. The Dead Marshes. The Black Gate. Cirith Ungol. . . His mind began to blacken, and he felt himself falling into the bottomless pit of despair. . . .

Sam recalled him, hands cupping his face tenderly, voice calling in a brave attempt at the old cheery greeting: "Wake up, Mr. Frodo!"

Frodo's eyes refocused, and there was Sam, and Gandalf, and Merry and Pippin lying together looking at the stars over Ithilien. Sam's eyes were watchful but not anxious. Sam was only too accustomed to recalling Frodo from his inner darkness.

Frodo smiled up at him, letting his own eyes smoulder in a way he knew would make Sam squirm. He was not disappointed. The hazel eyes shining down at him went smokey, and Sam's lap, where Frodo's head was resting, changed shape.

Frodo laughed softly, but took pity on Sam. He too was still somewhat shy in front of others. To cool the moment he turned to Gandalf, and found the wizard looking at him with amusement and love. "Feeling better, Frodo?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you," replied Frodo, and to his surprise he realized that it was true. Impulsively he scrambled from Sam's lap and threw his arms around the wizard. "Much better, thanks to you. I wouldn't have believed that just talking could help so much."

"Talking about what, cousin?" called Merry.

Frodo tensed, but replied steadily, "Talking about things that happened to me. Gandalf prodded me into it" -- he smiled into the wizard's face -- "and he was right. Somehow putting things into words helps them lose some of their power over me."

Gandalf looked keenly at him. Frodo was far from completely healed; perhaps would never be completely healed. Still, he rejoiced that Frodo was experiencing some respite, and could be merry and relaxed for the moment.

Frodo rolled back over to Sam's lap. He snuggled his head into the lap, and darted a mischievous glance when Sam groaned. Sam pulled a dark curl gently. "Behave, you!" he whispered mock-sternly.

Frodo's laughter welled up. He couldn't help it. The relief of spilling the poison that had been roiling in him so long was overwhelming. He lunged his body up to peck a quick kiss on Sam's lips, then lay back in the familiar arms to watch the wind in the trees.

Merry was quiet, gently stroking Pippin's head as it rested on his shoulder. It was a great relief to know that his cousin had accepted some of the healing Gandalf and Aragorn could offer him. Frodo's darkness frightened Merry. The haunted look in his eyes, the lines of pain on his face, the tensing of his entire body as if to ward off a blow. Merry's eyes filled. He had seen these things on Frodo's face, and knew them from within as well.

But now was not the time for darkness. Catching Frodo's playful mood, he tickled Pippin's ear. Pippin never needed much prompting for play, and in moments he was straddled atop Merry, tickling his ribs.

Gandalf's joy rang out in laughter like silver trumpets. "To think I have come through fire and water, through all the toils of the last battles of the Third Age, to watch hobbits playing children's games in the grass!" But there was only love in his voice, and his gaze was very gentle, especially when he looked on Frodo and Sam.

Frodo's hand had come up to trace Sam's cheek, and Sam's eyes were glowing like stars as he looked down into the thin face in his lap. All his love, all his longing, were open on his honest face.

Gandalf took pity on them. "And now, young Shirelings-in-exile, I think it is time for bed. Each of you is but newly recovered from grievous hurt." All four pairs of eyes lit up at his suggestion, and Gandalf laughed softly. "Sweet dreams," he called as they walked away, Merry's arm around Pippin's waist; Frodo and Sam hand in hand.

* * *

Frodo felt a swell of gratitude at Gandalf's understanding. In the Houses of Healing he and Sam had been placed in beds next to each other, but when the herb-master discharged them Gandalf had seen that they were assigned a single bedchamber, with a single very large bed.

Frodo knew he would not have survived his Journey but for Sam's arms to rest in. And for many many weeks, even those sheltering arms had afforded Frodo no pleasure and little comfort. The Spell of the Ring; the foul vapors of Mordor; the ordeal in Cirith Ungol. . . . Frodo felt himself slipping into the dark again, and shook himself. He looked up and saw Sam's eyes on him, alert, ready to rescue him from the dreamland of horror.

"How do you know when I need you Sam?" he asked. "I don't know myself what will trigger it, what will snag my soul and make me just -- go away."

"I can't rightly say," said Sam, frowning a little, "except that. . . well, I can only say that you're a part of me, Frodo, and when you begin to go away like that, as you call it, it's as if a part of me is leaving. I feel empty somehow, and I know I need to reach out and bring you back."

"You know I'm not leaving _you_ , don't you Sam?" murmured Frodo. "It doesn't mean that I love you any less. It's just -- well, when I'm in that state, I can't be good for anyone else."

"Nor for yourself neither, begging your pardon," said Sam firmly. "And I mean to be right here to call you back whenever you go away."

Frodo walked over to stand in front of Sam, putting his hands on the sturdy shoulders and looking straight into his eyes. "And what if I were to leave and -- not come back?"

"I'd follow," said Sam simply.

Frodo's eyes began to fill, but he could feel Sam's love and strength pouring into him and he shook off the melancholy. "I've waited a long time to be able to love you properly, and I don't mean to darken it with worries," he said. He began to unbutton Sam's shirt, but his fingers -- those that remained -- fumbled. Sam took over, pulling up the shirttail and sliding his braces off his shoulders. Deftly he slipped the shirt off and stepped out of his breeches, then began to undress Frodo.

Frodo's eyes closed as Sam's fingers and lips played down his chest, stroking and nibbling as each button came undone. By the time Sam reached the bottom buttons he was kneeling before Frodo, his face nuzzling his belly. His tongue darted into Frodo's navel, and Frodo giggled. "Stop that!"

"Stop?" Sam looked up into his face, brows quizzical, eyes dark and smokey. "Now you wouldn't really be meaning that, would you sir?"

Frodo yanked a sandy curl. "You're teasing me!"

"Indeed I am," murmured Sam, "and I don't mean to stop anytime soon." He undid the laces on Frodo's breeches, slid them down his legs and helped Frodo step out of them. His arms went around Frodo's hips, and for a moment he just rested his head against the other's body, feeling the hardness begin to jump and quiver, breathing in the familiar musky fragrance in contentment. Then he turned and softly took Frodo into his mouth.

Frodo's knees buckled, but Sam's arms were there, and he knit his fingers in Sam's sunlit curls, let his head fall back, and moaned deep in his throat. The sensation was so much more than pleasure. It was rain after drought, feast after famine, life after death. He felt the quivers begin deep in his belly, and with an effort he pulled himself away from the warm loving sheath of Sam's lips. "Not so soon," he whispered raggedly.

Sam grinned. "Right you are, then," he said obligingly, and with a bound he sprang up, caught Frodo in his arms, and tossed him onto the huge bed. Frodo squealed, scrambling onto his hands and knees to meet Sam as he leapt into the bed, making the eiderdown billow up around them. Frodo pounced and began tickling Sam in all the places he remembered: that spot under his ribs, and the spot over his collarbone, and that _special_ spot right where his leg joined his hip -- Sam was laughing helplessly, but gasping as well.

Frodo pinned Sam's shoulders to the soft mattress and straddled him, cupping Sam's face in his hands, his thumbs caressing the line on Sam's jaw that stood out when he was being stubborn. His fingers slipped down into Sam's hair, holding the head fast, and he bent to kiss those lips, not square in the center, but teasingly, tantalizingly on the very corner. Sam's head turned to meet the kiss but Frodo playfully pulled away and flicked his tongue across an eyebrow. Sam groaned, still laughing, and tried to capture Frodo in his arms, but Frodo wriggled away, lithe as an eel. "Oh no you don't, Samwise Gamgee. I'm not about to let you do all those things to me tonight!"

Sam looked up, startled. "You're not?" he said, and the surprise and trepidation in his voice renewed Frodo's giggles.

"No indeed, my lad," said Frodo. He leaned forward to lick the tip of Sam's nose. "Tonight, *I'm* going to do all those things to _you_."

"All of them?" said Sam faintly, which set them both to laughing again.

"All of them," replied Frodo firmly. "So you may as well just surrender now. I _will_ have my way with you, Sam."

"Yes you will," agreed Sam, relaxing back on the bed. His hands slid up Frodo's flanks, rough thumbs caressing circles across soft nipples. Frodo shuddered, and fluttered his tongue across Sam's chest, laving the skin. Frodo licked his fingers to tease the nipples into taut peaks as his lips moved up to the lovely swell of collarbone, along its exquisitely sensitive curve to the strong column of throat, humming now with Sam's breath. He couldn't wait any longer, and his mouth took Sam's, tongue slipping between lips to plunder within. He ran his tongue in the sensitive space between teeth and lips, and Sam moaned into his mouth. When Frodo's mouth left his he whimpered, but Frodo knew just what he wanted to do. Slowly he began a trail of kisses down Sam's body, revisiting the nipples that now stood proud, wetting the line of curly hair that led down to Sam's navel, and below. Scooting down on the bed so that he was kneeling between Sam's thighs, he took the warm shaft in his mouth and cupped the twin globes in his hands.

Sam's cry filled Frodo with exaltation. The growling moans excited him unbearably, and he ground his own erection into Sam's thickly-muscled thigh. His fingers and tongue played music of love and comfort to the Sam who had brought so much love and comfort to him, and when Sam's seed spurt he took it in as an offering.

It was several moments before Sam could speak. He reached down and tugged at a lock of Frodo's hair, telling him to come back up into his arms. Frodo went gladly, sliding up along Sam's body, meeting chest to chest in a symphony of warm flesh. "Frodo, ah, Elbereth, how I love you," breathed Sam, clasping the slight form to his breast. He felt Frodo's erection quiver against his belly, and he smiled languidly. "Not quite done yet, are we?"

Sam reached down between their bodies to clasp Frodo, but, feeling that he was almost there, he let go. Frodo groaned, but Sam had his own plan. He reached beside the bed for the tiny bottle of scented oil he had placed there earlier.

When Frodo saw the oil his eyes widened, and he jerked up. "Sam! I don't think I can. . ." his eyes started to defocus again, and Sam caught his shoulders, calling him back.

"Please," Sam whispered. "I need you in me. Please."

Frodo looked down into the eyes of the person he loved most in the world and saw there only tenderness and longing. His body was shaking at the thought of performing the act that had been done to him so brutally, but the memory of the brutality was washing away in the sweetness flowing from Sam's eyes.

Sam poured a puddle of oil onto his palm and annointed Frodo with it liberally. Frodo almost went over the edge at the feel of Sam's oil-wet palm, but then Sam was shifting under him, wedging a bolster to support his hips, bringing his legs up to bare himself for Frodo's love.

Trembling, Frodo took his erection in his hand and guided it into Sam. The oil slid deliciously as Frodo pressed slowly into Sam's warm velvet opening. Sam's eyes went black with pleasure, then closed as he rode the sensation. Propping himself on both arms, Frodo savored the clenching embrace and the complete surrender on Sam's face. Slowly he pulled out, almost all the way, then very slowly pressed back in, all the way in, and again, and again, very slowly. But now he was losing control and his hips took over their own rhythm. Sam's arms were around him in a bruising grip, and his legs were locked high around Frodo's waist, and the only thing in the world was Sam, his tight heat, his enveloping limbs, his willing mouth. Frodo screamed into Sam's mouth as he came.

Sam's head was cradled in the crook of Frodo's arm, one arm and leg thrown across Frodo. "I love you," said Frodo very softly, but Sam was asleep. Frodo held him, reveling in his weight, his warmth; glorying that he, Frodo, could accept this much love.

But still his eyes filled. "I hope I never have to go where you can't follow," he whispered.

the end

**Author's Note:**

> *and it's 'coz you've thrilled me  
> silenced me, stilled me  
> proved things I never believed  
> Oh! the face on you  
> the smell of you  
> will always be with me*
> 
> Sinead O'Connor Three Babies


End file.
